


Solstice

by DreamerInSilico



Series: Solstice [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/F, Fingerfucking, Fluff, Oral Sex, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-14
Updated: 2012-03-14
Packaged: 2017-11-01 22:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamerInSilico/pseuds/DreamerInSilico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been a year since a rather surprising Winter Solstice.  Aela and Yvette have both been thinking about what happened… and Aela will finally take the initiative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally published on the Skyrim Kink Meme; minor edits have been made.

As the wan sun began to sink toward the horizon – so early in the evening, on this longest night of the year – Aela prowled the practice yards of Jorrvaskr, restless as she had not been since the last time she had been confined to the Companion’s hall with a leg injury.  Her bowshots found the targets as surely as ever, but the calm detachment of her deadly craft was denied her, and by the time she had emptied the last of her quiver, she was nearly growling in frustration. 

 

Distracted as she was, she failed to hear the outside door of the hall closing, but whipped around at the nearby scrape of a booted footfall to find Vilkas watching her with amusement. 

 

“I don’t know what those targets did to earn your wrath, shield-sister, but I would not wish to be them today.” 

 

“You sure?  Because you could be, if you wanted,” Aela grated out, annoyed. 

 

“Ahh, no.  That would hardly be fair; I am much bigger than the targets,” her friend protested. 

 

“You’ve got a harder head, too.  It would balance out,” she shot back. 

 

Vilkas laughed.  “True enough.  Still, I’ll join you with short swords, instead, if it would help to have a thinking target.” 

 

Aela bared her teeth in a grin and nodded.  “Alright.  You might regret it, though,” she assented as she gathered up the blunted practice blades and tossed one to him. 

 

“I might regret not being your chosen sparring partner, but likely not matching swords with you, sister,” he returned as they began to circle. 

 

Aela feinted, then lunged, pushing Vilkas’s all-too-perceptive words out of her head in favor of the fight.  Which was difficult, because she could have sworn he spent the entire bout laughing at her.  Not out loud, of course, but she knew him well enough to see the spark of humor in his war paint-ringed eyes, serious as they might have seemed to an outsider. 

 

Bastard.  He was too smug by half. 

 

By the time the practice bout was over, they were both sweating in their winter gear despite the frozen gusts of tundra air that whistled over Whiterun’s thick, stone walls like a reindeer might leap a broken fence.  Aela was nursing a swiftly-darkening bruise across her fingers from when he had managed to disarm her once – drawing her bow would not be pleasant for the next few days, but she would manage.  She’d repaid him in kind with a strike to the shoulder, but sometimes she wondered if either Vilkas or his twin brother even felt anything that happened to their upper bodies anymore.  If it pained him, he did not show it. 

 

“Any better?” he asked, returning his practice blade to its rack and looking back over his shoulder at Aela. 

 

He caught her pacing near the weapons racks, and chuckled almost sympathetically.  “I suppose not, eh?  Perhaps the feasting will take the edge off – by the smell, that should be soon.” 

 

Aela nodded stiffly and began to tend her own weapons. 

 

…

 

Bathing to prepare for the feast brought no surcease, despite the uncommon luxury of freshly-heated water.  Aela’s every nerve was unwontedly alert and ready, and she was cross with herself for being unable to relax, cross with the source of that inability, and cross with herself again for having thus far failed to confront that source. 

 

Yvette had been away for the past week, but she would be at the solstice feasting tonight. 

 

The Breton mage was a puzzle Aela despaired of ever quite solving; gregarious and reclusive by turns, she would go days at a time with barely a word spoken, and then be laughing and drinking – sparingly – with the other Companions and swapping grandiose tales of the road. 

 

And sometimes, she would watch Aela.  She was good about hiding it, of course, but Aela hadn’t gotten to be the best archer in Whiterun by being oblivious to details that kept skittering on the edge of her awareness.  Yvette would watch, and Aela would catch her, and then the damnable mage would start making perfectly normal conversation as if she’d only just turned to Aela to get her attention, and hadn’t actually had those vivid green eyes on her for a minute or more.  Once, a few months after The Incident, she had seemed on the verge of saying something that _wasn’t_ perfectly normal conversation during one of these strange interludes… and then she hadn’t.  And so Aela’s blood had simmered just a fraction hotter. 

 

The last winter solstice feast was a honeyed blur in her memory except for one bright, crystal-clear moment, when Yvette had stood there beside her with a tumbler of strongmead, lips just barely turned up into the sardonic smile that was so very _her_ , and Aela had kept her shouted promise and paid for the mead with a kiss.  She’d expected to put the mage off-balance… and if she judged correctly, for a fraction of a heartbeat, she had done so.  But then Yvette had leaned into her and caressed Aela’s lips and tongue with her own, and Aela had buried greedy fingers in that night-black hair and pulled her nearer and deeper. 

 

 _Why_ she hadn’t followed the gorgeous creature down to the living quarters when she’d left the mead hall later that night, while the honey liquor still threaded sweet fire through her veins, Aela still wondered.  And then the solstice had passed, and the resultant hangover had passed, and it had all begun to seem very much like a fragile gem of a dream that would shatter if brought into the sunlight, rather than a true experience, breathing and warm. 

 

So Aela had waited for some unambiguous, un-intoxicated signal from Yvette that she had not actually imagined the conflagration of desire that had erupted between them.  At first it had seemed simple – after all, Yvette had made the decision to accept the reward Aela offered in the first place.  But Yvette had not said anything, hadn’t _done_ anything… only watched Aela, and had the faintest thread of strain in her face when conversation would lapse between them and memory would seep into the gaps of silence. 

 

…

 

Aela was tired of waiting. 

 

But how to proceed?  _Should_ she proceed?  With any man she’d met and any woman she’d slept with, that one kiss would have been almost immediately followed by an invitation to bed.  Though Aela appreciated it more than most, subtlety was not a virtue treasured by the Nords. 

 

Met with Yvette’s many and varied shades of ambiguity, Aela was at a loss.  Sometimes they would be chatting over a campfire in easy camaraderie, and then something indefinable would shift in the mage’s eyes, and the air would crackle with more than errant cinders.  A mere chance brush of shoulders would take on meaning and significance… which seemed faintly ridiculous to Aela, when she considered it; they were shield-sisters and close friends, and physical contact was no momentous event.  _Should be_ no momentous event. 

 

And yet. 

 

Aela growled softly to herself as she twisted her damp mane of hair into a thick plait and stalked out the door of her living quarters toward the stairs that led up to the main hall.  Perhaps she would find a way to know for certain, tonight.  She could always do something bold and romantic and altogether silly and then blame it on the mead if Yvette wasn’t interested in her. 

 

 _Talos_ , did she even like women? 

 

_Yvette’s slender hands slipped around her waist, and her tongue swept deep into Aela’s mouth, demanding more…_

 

Aela discarded that question as moronic and began to climb the stairs. 

 

The sideboard was groaning under a dozen savory dishes, and the smell was heady enough to lift Aela’s mood a fraction as she filled her first plate. 

 

“So, shield-sister,” Vilkas opened with a hint of a smirk as he joined her to reload his own plate.  “Going to give us a repeat performance?  Last year’s was quite the hit.” 

 

Aela looked up from the venison she was carving to glare at him.  “No, I should think not,” she replied shortly, and returned to sawing at the meat a bit more viciously than she had been previously. 

 

“Now, that’s a shame.” 

 

“Oh, is it, really?” 

 

“Mmmhmm.  Although… well.  It worked so nicely, maybe I’ll try it myself, this year.  I wonder if I could get Yvette to bring _me_ a glass of mead…” 

 

“If you _dare –_ “  Most men would have been concerned that the carving knife was still in Aela’s fist when she brandished that fist at him, but Vilkas only grinned. 

 

“Uh huh.  I thought so.” 

 

Aela would have cuffed him upside the head had she not been holding a very full plate of food, and she knew he knew that, too. 


	2. Chapter 2

The feast passed as most in Jorrvaskr did – slowly, raucously, and with more alcohol than even the Companions could consume.  Aela drank more lightly than was her usual habit, taking in the food and firelight and general chaos with clear eyes, and as a result found herself understanding why Yvette had always seemed to have limited stamina for this sort of thing.  The mage never drank to excess, which set her apart from everyone else in Jorrvaskr, servants included… and frankly, a hall full of Companions made much more sense when one was drunk. 

 

As if their shared relative sobriety was a silken cord between them, Aela was aware of Yvette’s every movement, and when she turned away, she felt searching eyes upon her. 

 

Farkas, now quite inebriated, was telling a story, Vilkas adding embellishments at what seemed like every pause, and for a few short minutes Aela allowed herself to get wrapped up in the laughter as the audience contested one of the brothers’ more outrageous boasts.  When she glanced back toward where Yvette had been sitting… the mage was gone. 

 

The warrior’s eyes swept quickly over the entire hall looking for her absent shield-sister.  She was far more distressed at her sudden departure than she would ever have admitted to, and she felt annoyingly relieved when Vilkas caught her eye again and jerked his head toward the staircase that went down to the living area. 

 

Would Yvette be going to bed at this hour?  One thing Aela was _not_ prepared to do was wake the woman up in order to…  well, to do whatever it is she was going to do.  Which would somehow break this damnable tension, or there might well be an angry werewolf out terrorizing the wildlife or something by morning. 

 

Aela nodded to Vilkas in chagrined thanks and withdrew from the feast as quickly unobtrusively as she could, grateful that her friend picked that particular moment to interject Farkas’ story with something ridiculous that set the other Companions into an uproar all over again.  Padding down the stairs, her soft boots almost soundless against the polished wood, Aela decided that the library would be her best bet to check first.  (“Library” was a bit of a rich word for the small room with a few bookshelves, a desk, and an apothecary’s table – the place would be more rightly called a study, but as it was the most scholarly sort of place in Jorrvaskr, the Companions affectionately named it a library and very seldom bothered to use it.  It had been Yvette’s favorite haunt since she first moved in as a recruit.) 

 

Surely enough, the library door was slightly ajar, and the warm light of an oil lamp spilled across the flagstones from inside. 

 

Aela gulped in a silent breath to try and dampen restless nerves, then bit her lip when it did nothing but set her heart to pounding faster.  She was acting like a _teenager_ and it made _no sense_ and…

 

The wolf in her knew how to hunt.  She would let it. 

 

At that thought, most of the fluttering in her chest turned to hot-bloodied adrenaline, and she stepped into the doorway to lean against the frame.  Yvette’s back was to the door, half-unbound hair tumbling in a cloud of sable curls down slim shoulders as she scanned the shelves with an attention that read as forced to Aela, by the tense lines of her posture. 

 

Yvette let out a short sigh, and Aela chose that moment to speak. 

 

“You don’t look like you’re enjoying the solstice festivities nearly as much as you should be, my friend.” 

 

…

 

The mage froze.  The room was so quiet, set as it was into the stone of the hill, that Aela could hear her breath catch, just slightly.  Then Yvette turned about slowly, one dark eyebrow already arching as her lips followed suit in a half-smile to greet Aela. 

 

“I could say the same of you, if not more so.  You don’t even look drunk!  Who’s going to drink Farkas under the table this year, if not you?”  The half-smile became a grin as she finished the jibe. 

 

Aela snorted, amused, though somewhere in the back of her mind a part of her raged that _now was not the time to cross verbal swords with Yvette_.  “Right.  I learned my lesson the first time I tried that, thanks very much.”  The other Companions were _never_ going to let her live that ill-chosen boast down, it seemed.  “Besides, I didn’t feel like drinking tonight.  Thought I’d try this sobriety thing you’re so fond of.” 

 

Yvette gave a musical chuckle, shaking her head.  “It’s not quite sobriety, but I suppose anything less than stumbling drunk is considered sober for Nords, yes?  How are you finding it?” 

 

“Well,” Aela answered, stepping fully into the room, “Upstairs?  Rather dull.  Everyone’s a better storyteller when their audience is in its cups.  Down here, though… I’d say it has potential.” 

 

“Oh?  What sort of potential?”  The smaller woman held her ground as Aela advanced, her neutral stance somehow only inflaming Aela’s predatory instincts.  It was sometimes easy to forget that the mage was Dragonborn, and a werewolf besides – she held the associated powers close as she did her magic, releasing them only in controlled, focused violence when the occasion called.  Aela, on the other hand, _lived_ her wolf nature more often than not; she had chosen to take on her wild skin at her coming-of-age, had reveled in the strength and the sense of belonging that it brought. 

 

Aela paused a pace and a half away, resting a deceptively casual hand against the desk and locking eyes with Yvette.  The mage must have seen something change in Aela’s gaze, for her own widened perceptibly, pupils large and lustrous in the lamplight. 

 

For her part, the warrior silently prayed to Talos, Dibella, and whoever else might be listening that Yvette wouldn’t see the last flash of anxiety Aela felt just before she stepped off that long-skirted edge of ambiguity.  “You’re here, everyone else is upstairs, and I can finally find out what I need to know.” 

 

And before Yvette could answer with the inevitable wry inquiry, Aela closed the last bit of distance between them, pressing her windburned lips to Yvette’s soft ones. 

 

…

 

Yvette stiffened in surprise for a fraction of a second, just long enough to make Aela’s heart seem to hang suspended, mid-beat, before Yvette’s response allowed it to regain its rhythm once more.  The mage returned the kiss with a tender fury that had Aela wondering all over again how she could possibly have worried about mistaking her interest.  Aela moved closer, and she could feel the hitch in Yvette’s breath, which drove her to wrap an arm around the smaller woman’s waist and pull their bodies tightly together.  When they parted, gasping, Yvette watched her for a long moment before bruised lips twitched upward, and she spoke. 

 

“I trust your question is answered?” 

 

Aela grinned, showing teeth, as her wolf-heart howled a paean of triumph.  “It is.” 

 

“Oh good.  I was beginning to wonder if I’d dreamed last year,” Yvette murmured, green eyes glinting with impish mirth. 

 

“You - !  Why didn’t you _say_ something?” Aela grated. 

 

Yvette traced Aela’s lower lip with one faintly-callused fingertip.  “I thought I had.  I didn’t want to push my luck – you’d been drinking that night, and I’d come to you, and, well…  I honestly didn’t know how much of your response was because it was me, at the time.” 

 

The warrior snorted in chagrined frustration.  “And I wondered if I’d imagined yours.  Damnit, Yvette, I’ve wanted you since you helped me fell that giant the night you came to Whiterun.”  She leaned forward, voice warm and burred in Yvette’s ear.  “Forgive me for not telling you so sooner?” 

 

Her response was immediate.  “Only if you kiss me again.” 

 

 _That_ , Aela could do. 

 

Raising a hand to cup Yvette’s sharp, almost elfin jaw, she brushed a gentle promise of a kiss across her lips, withdrawing for a fraction of a second only to bring their mouths crashing back together again, now hard and forceful.  Yvette’s tongue was quick to meet her assault, darting into her mouth and teasing against her lips, and her clever fingers now tracing along the hemline of Aela’s tunic.  In response, Aela dragged her free hand up the curve of Yvette’s hip and flank to place it squarely upon the center of her chest, just above the soft swell of her breasts, and pressed her backward into the narrow stretch of wall between bookshelves.  Yvette allowed herself to be guided, her lips slipping free of Aela’s to nip at her earlobe. 

 

The feel of teeth loosed a soft growl from Aela’s chest, and she dipped her own head to lay a rough, biting kiss against the place where Yvette’s graceful neck met her shoulder, feeling luxuriant, faintly-scented hair against her face as she did so.  Then Yvette’s hands slipped under the tunic and thin undershirt to skate across her stomach, raising a deep shudder of desire from Aela’s core.  When those long fingers dipped under her breast bindings, she wrapped her arms around Yvette at waist and buttocks and lifted her, the mage’s short robes bunching up to reveal the soft woolen leggings she wore underneath as she wrapped her legs around Aela’s waist. 

 

She was so light!  Aela had always marveled at how much resilience was hidden in her shield-sister’s fragile-seeming frame, but the woman was like a bird in her arms – if she hadn’t seen Yvette face down an adolescent dragon with her own eyes, she might have feared to break her. 

 

Yvette was watching her now, a smile playing at her lips and that emerald gaze so intensely bright Aela thought she would feel it upon her skin even if she were to look away. 

 

“My room?” Aela ventured, laying an open-mouthed kiss against Yvette’s throat.

 

The mage’s voice came out in a breathy gasp that made Aela’s grip tighten possessively around her. “Sounds perfect.”  


	3. Chapter 3

It was a good thing that no one else was in the living quarters’ hallway at the time – or at least, so Aela thought; she wasn’t entirely sure that she would have noticed if someone _had_ been there to see them.  Yvette filled her view and her arms as Aela carried her to her comfortably-appointed, private room.  The mage still shared with Ria, and neither she nor Aela had any wish to be disturbed. 

 

Aela turned as they reached the threshold to shoulder open the door, then crossed the room to finally spill Yvette onto the bed of furs and soft-woven wool.  She stayed standing for a short moment, savoring the sight of the woman she’d desired for well over a year sprawled out in smiling abandon on her bed, black hair a pool of ink around her… but then Yvette reached up an insistent hand that caught Aela’s arm, pulling her down on top of her, and Aela was lost in her scent – lavender and a faint undertone of other herbals – and the liquid grace of her curves and the flashing heat in her eyes. 

 

Those soft lips found Aela’s again, wordlessly inviting her touch, as warm fingers slid past her face into Aela’s barely-damp hair, gently undoing the plait and combing through cinnamon locks until they fell in feathered softness across both their cheeks.  Yvette did not withdraw her fingers, instead tracing sweet lines of fire across Aela’s cheekbones and down the curve of her jaw.  Eyes closed, Aela began to undo the fastenings of the thick robes Yvette wore, and felt the butterfly touch of fingertips sweeping across her eyelids and brow as she did so. 

 

“You…” she breathed, suddenly at a loss, but it didn’t seem to matter much.

 

“You,” Yvette agreed, and Aela could hear the smile in her voice. 

 

The robes finally yielded to Aela’s efforts to remove them, falling open to reveal naught but a linen breast-binding and snug leggings, and she dipped down to kiss and nip at the smooth, moon-pale skin of Yvette’s stomach.  The woman’s gasp struck a fresh note of fierce urgency within her, but when she moved to pull off the leggings, she found herself balked by firm hands in her hair pulling her head up.  Yvette’s eyes were burning as she met them. 

 

“Oh no.  You’re at least losing the shirt before you go any further,” she reprimanded, half-sitting to tug at the offending garment. 

 

Aela was all too happy to let her, shuddering at her touch as it slid up her abdomen again, pulling off shirt and tunic and breast-bindings all in one deft movement.  The cool air of the room was a shock as it met her naked skin, but Yvette’s breath was suddenly there and _warm_ against her breast, the combination raising rampant gooseflesh just before her lips and tongue closed around Aela’s chill-hardened nipple. 

 

The heat was a spike of pleasure that arrowed into her core, pulling a growling gasp from her as she gripped Yvette’s shoulders.  Aela savored the feel for a handful of heartbeats, before aggressive desire rose in a breathless _surge_ that had her pressing Yvette back down onto the bed and settling a knee between the mage’s thighs.  She gasped and squirmed against the touch, and Aela seized the moment of advantage to get that _infernally tight_ last strip of fabric off her lover’s chest and palm one small, firm breast before returning the torturous favor of her mouth upon it.  Yvette shuddered and moaned beneath her, and Aela bit down slightly, raising an outcry and feeling still-clothed hips bucking against her leg. 

 

Oh, those leggings had to _go_. 

 

…

 

Aela managed the feat one-handed, her other hand squeezing the swell of Yvette’s breast before raking down across her ribs and sending the small woman into near-convulsive shivers.  Free hand following the leggings’ retreating waistband, Aela stroked teasingly through the sparse black hair at the juncture of her thighs. 

 

The quiet gasp as she parted the moist lips and ran a fingertip across Yvette’s slit from end to end made Aela grin in visceral delight.  Lips in rough contrast to gentle hands, she devoured the other woman’s mouth, biting her way down the slender neck, leaving rosy marks on collarbone and breasts, and then as Yvette arched against her, slipped two fingers deep inside.  Her silken walls were _so warm, so tight_ against Aela’s skin, and she matched Yvette’s soft moan as she felt them squeeze around her questing fingers. 

 

Curling her fingers upward to press harder against the slick walls drew a startled jerk from the woman beneath her and Aela paused, concerned.  “Too much?” she murmured. 

 

“Ahh, no!” came the breathless reassurance.  “That felt… rather wonderful.” 

 

Aela smiled again, showing teeth, and lowered her face to the smooth skin below her just begging to be nipped, licked, and kissed, repeating the motion with her hand and earning a hitched mewl from Yvette.  Her fingers slid out, and jabbed back in a fraction more forcefully, curving into a rocking motion that set the heel of her palm – just barely, as it wouldn’t do to let this be over too fast – against her lover’s sensitive nub. 

 

Fine-boned hands slipped into her hair again, drawing her up into a long, deep kiss that let her _feel_ the excited vibration in Yvette’s throat as her hand moved between the mage’s legs, then guiding her gently back to a pert nipple which she gladly took into her mouth once more. 

 

“Yessss, like that…” Yvette’s voice was a strained whisper into her hair as she teased with lips and tongue and the occasional rake of teeth, and Aela could have sworn she felt Yvette _immediately_ get wetter as she did so. 

 

When gasps became full-throated moans and Yvette began to shiver and flex her legs nearly in time to the motion of her fingers, Aela dipped her thumb into the soaked cleft to coat it with fluid, feeling her own body clench in shared anticipation. 

 

“Hold on tight,” she warned, just to see Yvette shudder at the words.  Then, as the hands obediently clenched in her hair, she set her moisture-slick thumb against Yvette’s clit in firm, precise circles and pressed her middle fingers deep inside – and Yvette arched half-off the bed into her touch, thrusting up against her hand, demanding _more_ even as she let out a long, low cry of release. 

 

Aela held her as she peaked and subsided, fingers slowing to a languid rhythm and eyes avidly drinking in the sight of her shield-sister, her lover, flushed and undone in pleasure.  Then emerald eyes opened slowly to stare back at her, dark with passion, and she felt the fire in her veins ignite into a hungry roar. 

 

…

 

Watching Yvette spiral down from her climax, Aela was not prepared for the sudden, surprisingly strong grip of long fingers on her forearm.  Pulled forward without warning, she fell atop the length of Yvette’s body in electric collision – the mage broke her fall in a tangle of compact, graceful limbs, and Aela’s wolf instincts growled at the clever shifting of weight that saw her flipped cleanly on her back. 

 

Yvette was grinning down at her, tousle-haired, and she realized that the growl must have been aloud.  “Tch.  Afraid I’ll bite?” the woman teased. 

 

 

“ – Because I can bite,” Yvette whispered, breath warm in her ear.  Aela shivered, clasping her arms hard against Yvette’s back and pulling her close as the mage tugged at her earlobe with small, sharp teeth.  Then there was a firm pressure between her legs, and before she could help herself, she was writhing against Yvette and wondering how in Oblivion the vixen had managed to sneak a hand down there and _why_ was Aela still wearing pants?

 

Apparently thinking along the same lines, Yvette pushed back abruptly and rose to her knees, hooking adroit fingers into the waistband of Aela’s leggings.  “Yes, please…” Aela grated, resisting the urge to buck her hips into the light touch. 

 

“Hmm, I don’t know.  I’m fairly certain I could get you screaming for me with these still on…” came the teasing reply.  Aela’s glare must have been impressive – or just comical, perhaps – for Yvette laughed her musical laugh and shook her head before tugging the inconveniently obstructive clothing down Aela’s hips and off entirely, along with her smalls.  “…but I couldn’t possibly torture you so much after what you did for me,” she finished in a husky whisper that traced like nails across the warrior’s skin. 

 

Her mouth was warm, so warm, as it worked its way down Aela’s neck, between her breasts with tongue lapping at the skin, over her ribs and down the flat, muscled plane of her stomach.  Gentle hands were urging her legs apart, and she opened them with a shudder of thrilled exposure, cool air of the room even colder against the slick moisture that had gathered at the juncture of her thighs.  Yvette paused just over the ruddy thatch of hair that hid her sex, and Aela looked down only to be arrested by the desire she saw in the mage’s eyes, raised to watch Aela’s face just before that clever tongue dipped down and _licked_ -

 

When the aftershocks of long-delayed sensation stopped after that one stroke, Aela realized that Yvette had paused, and she opened hazy eyes to look down at her again… was something wrong? 

 

No, no it most certainly wasn’t.  Yvette was _staring_ at her again, waiting for Aela to see something she was going to do…

 

And the mage’s sharp chin raised slightly, lips parting to speak one word in the barest suggestion of a whisper that nonetheless sounded clear and powerful in Aela’s ears.  “ _Yol_.” 

 

Heat gusted across Aela’s stomach and raised fresh goosebumps as she began to process what her lover had said… had _shouted_ (was it a shout if spoken in a whisper?)… and then all attempts at analysis were thrown to the four winds, for Yvette dipped her head downward again and now the tongue that parted her inner lips was an _ember_ against flesh already ablaze with need –

 

\- and it swept downward like a trail of sweet fire and _stabbed_ inside; Aela realized faintly that the keening noises she heard were coming from her own throat, and she didn’t care, only reached down to sink her hands into that glorious riot of black curls and urged Yvette for _more_ – which the Dragonborn gave, and gave, until all Aela knew was heat and shooting ecstasy and the wry, faint thread of thought almost drowned out by pleasure, _I spent a year holding off – from THIS?_  

 

…

 

“The noises have stopped… I think they finally fell asleep.”  Vilkas said with a snorted chuckle into his mug of mulled cider, lounging in the downstairs common room. 

 

“I wonder if Aela realized – “ Farkas began, raising an amused eyebrow. 

 

“Oh, I _rather_ doubt it.”

 

“Do you think we should -?”

 

Vilkas pushed himself somewhat unsteadily to his feet, still laughing. “Yeah. I’ll go close their door.” 


End file.
